


I'm Here

by smallishSnake



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: + trying to resolve their emotional issues As A Family™, Anxiety, Awesome Pepper Potts, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, basically just the Tony Gang™ living a nice domestic life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:28:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallishSnake/pseuds/smallishSnake
Summary: Peter tries to comfort Tony as his mentor has a panic attack, but Tony isn't one for emotions.----Peter grabbed his mentor’s shoulder and held on. “Mr. Stark, I’m here, I’m here, I’m right here, Mr. Stark. Two more things you can see, Mr. Stark, please, it’s a trick to make them go away.”“Kid. Peter. Go. Just go.”





	I'm Here

Tony and Peter wouldn’t consider it a late night — in part because both of them rarely got any sleep, but also because neither would admit to the other that they were both exhausted. As Peter studied in the lab, elbow resting on a calculus textbook, he tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

Tony noticed. “Past your bedtime, Peter?”

He shook his head emphatically in response.

“Maybe we should call it a night,” said Tony. Despite the smirk on his face, his eyes were kind, and he set down the wrench he’d been holding. “You have school tomorrow.”

“Mr. Stark, I haven’t….” Peter looked past the sincerity in Tony’s eyes and saw the same tiredness he felt. “Okay, yeah. Call it a night.”

The smirk brightened into a smile. “That was easier than I thought it would be. See you in the morning, kid.”

Peter took the stairs two at a time as Tony locked up the lab. He ducked into his room, closed the door, then immediately opened it again. “Goodnight Mr. Stark,” he whispered.

“See you, kid,” Tony said again.

Because of school and Aunt May’s overprotection, Peter didn’t usually stay overnight at the Compound. But every once in a while, after Peter begged and bargained, May would concede and promise to go take some time for herself. Judging by the Netflix history, May’s alone time was mostly spent rewatching Friends. Peter always felt a twinge of guilt for that.

But, usually, staying at the Compound was one of Peter’s favorite things to do. Even though it meant staying up late in the lab, he always slept best after working. It was only a couple hours after he’d gone to bed, however, when Peter’s hearing picked up an unsettling sound. Some kind of gasping, like a person was drowning or choking—or running, maybe? He couldn’t tell, but he also couldn’t sleep with the noise. Slipping out of bed and down the hall, he stopped in front of Tony’s door. Peter frowned. He raised a hand to knock, then lowered it. Then raised a hand to knock, and lowered it.

Finally, he knocked.

“Who’s—that?” Tony’s voice was strained and quick.

“It’s me, sir. Are you oka—”

“Don’t-come-in.”

Peter paused, trying to decide between following directions and sating his curiosity. He settled on a middle ground. “Mr. Stark?” When Tony’s voice didn’t respond, Peter pushed the door open slowly.

His mentor was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, breathing too fast.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Kid,” he said through gritted teeth. “Don’t.”

“Wait, I— I can help, Mr. Stark, sir.” Peter took a seat on the bed next to him. “You’re having a panic attack.”

“No shit,” he breathed.

Undeterred, Peter continued, “I get these, like, all the time! And I have— I have a trick, to help them go away that I found on Google one time when I was thinking too much on the day after I fought— Gee, I’m rambling, sir, sorry— Oh, no, Mr. Stark, look at me, focus, Mr. Stark.”

As Peter had talked, Tony had raised his head from his hands. His eyes were darting around the dark room in a frantic state. To Peter, everything was shadows, but Tony looked as though he was searching through a crowd of faces, taking in everything at once.

“What can you see, Mr. Stark?”

“Kid. It doesn’t work. On me.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m helping! I, I, I can help— Just tell me something you can see.” 

“You.” Tony stared at Peter. His chest was still rising and falling far too rapidly.

“Another thing.”

“The bed. The pillows”—he swallowed, hard—“on. The. Bed.” 

“Another.”

“The wa— Shit.” He put a hand over his heart and doubled over, and, if it was possible, his unsteady hyperventilating got faster.

Peter grabbed his mentor’s shoulder and held on. “Mr. Stark, I’m here, I’m here, I’m right here, Mr. Stark. Two more things you can see, Mr. Stark, please, it’s a trick to make them go away.”

“Kid. Peter. Go. Just go.”

“Mr. Stark—!” Peter’s voice had risen steadily throughout the mostly one-sided conversation, and the exclamation came out as a frightened squeak. “Mr. Stark,” he tried again, whispering. But Tony didn’t say anything back, just kept his whole body leaned over as he shook violently. Uncertainly, Peter stood up. “Are you sure? I, I don’t mind staying. If…” As his mentor didn’t respond, he shuffled out of the room, just to lean against the closed door.

And he stayed there, sitting in front of his mentor’s room, until the man inside sounded okay again.

\- - - - -

Two hours later, when Peter woke up, there was a yellow note taped to the coffee machine. He pulled it off, grinning helplessly when he read it.

If you don’t leave a cup for Peter I’ll put face recognition on the Keurig.

The messy drafting handwriting was undoubtedly Tony’s. Still smiling, he poured himself a cup of coffee and what Tony would call an ungodly amount of creamer.

Once, Peter had said, “If you never use creamer, why do you even buy it?” Tony had fumbled for a response, stuttering uncharacteristically, until Peter saved him with, “Oh, I guess Pepper or Happy use it.” Never mind that everyone living in the Compound took their coffee black. Drinking plain coffee must’ve been a superhero thing. Wait, Peter was a superhero. An adult superhero thing.

“Morning, Peter,” said Rhodey. Before Peter could even chirp back a reply, Rhodey added, “Seen Tony yet?”

“No. He, uh, he might be in, in, the, uh, lab?”

Rhodey blinked. “You good? That was a whole lot of stuttering, even for you.”

Peter flushed red and nodded. Suspiciously, Rhodey turned away, and Peter glanced at the clock. “Oh, gee, I gotta go, Mr. Rhodes, sir, see you later!” He webbed his backpack off the table and ran off down the hallway.

“I’m wincing at the formality,” Rhodey called after him.

\- - - -

When Peter got home after school, May said, “You’re back early.”  
He’d skipped his afternoon patrolling, speed-walking through the streets of Queens to make it home in just fifteen minutes. “Can I stay at the Compound tonight?” he asked in a rush.

“Peter, honey, you were there last night. Remember that?”

She was cooking something in a bubbling pot, stirring it with a wooden spoon that kept getting stuck in the mixture. Peter hadn’t taken off his backpack, and leaned against the counter as he tried to ignore the smell coming from the stovetop.

“I know,” he tried, “but I really need to see Mr. Stark.” In actuality, Tony hadn’t spoken with Peter that day, and the kid had no idea how his mentor would react to his sleeping over two nights in a row. Especially after Tony’s panic attack the previous night.

May scrunched her nose. “Don’t you have that man’s phone number?”

“It’s a, a, a project, Aunt May. A really… important one.”

“Fine. But”—she pointed the spoon at him—“this won’t happen again. Got it?” 

“Got it. What’s on the spoon?”

May looked at the spoon, which was caked in some kind of green and white substance that had a sludgy consistency. “It’s a sign,” she said, “from the heavens. It’s telling me to get takeout.”

Peter laughed with her. “Bye, Aunt May. Love you!” 

With his backpack still on, he webbed all the way to the Compound. This would be a fun conversation with Tony. When the building came into view, he stepped in front of the face recognition at the front door.

“Access denied.”

He turned his face slightly to the left.

“Access denied.”

To the right?

“Access denied.”

More to the right.

“Access denied. Access denied. Access denied. Access— Acc— A— Access denied. Alerting security.”

“Oh no no no-no-no—!”

Happy’s voice came through the speaker next to the door. “Peter? What are you doing here?”

“It’s Peter? Let him in, I want to see him!” came Pepper’s voice.

“Pepper please don’t talk on my—”

“Happy I know this is important to you but I—”

“—detracting from my position as head of security—”

“—I really really want to talk on—”

The door opened automatically, and Peter stepped inside. It felt familiar; the air, the space, the feeling, always felt like a second home to them.

He heard the click of high heels behind him, and Pepper Potts wrapped him a perfumed hug. “Peter! Always a pleasure. How are you, how’s May? How’s school?”

“Good, good, and good,” he said as she pulled back.

She smiled, beautifully, and took him by the hand as though he were a kid. “Have you had dinner yet? Rhodey’s making lasagna, military-style.” They walked through the hall, each step clean and perfect. Peter couldn’t shake that little bit of him that felt starstruck, no matter how nice Pepper was to him.

“What’s that even mean?”

She laughed, and Peter’s heart swelled. It was hard to have a normal conversation with someone he idolized almost as much as Tony. “I don’t know. Rhodey’s done everything ‘military-style’ lately.”

They made it to the kitchen, and Peter glanced at the empty coffee pot, remembering with a jolt of happiness that he’d tucked the note into his pocket for safekeeping. Rhodey was standing, supporting himself heavily on the edge of the counter. When he heard the two of them approach, he stood up straighter. A flash of pain crossed his face but disappeared almost instantly.

“Out of the kitchen!” he directed playfully. “Don’t disturb the chef.”  
“Don’t disturb the chef?” Pepper mocked. She winked almost imperceptibly at Peter. “What, like this?” She stole a bit of mozzarella cheese from a bag near the stove.

Rhodey snatched away the bag and clutched it to his chest, leaning back against the counter. “This is mine!”

“Is this disturbing you?” She stole the spoon out of a pot of red sauce, and Peter’s spidey sense alerted him as she tossed it to him. “Do you need this spoon, Chef Rhodes?”

“Peter,” Rhodey warned, smiling at the spoon-wielding Peter. “You gotta pick a side.”

Peter looked back and forth between them as Pepper put her hands together plaintively. “I’m your favorite,” she whispered.

“I’m making the damn lasagna,” Rhodey shot back.

With a long look at Pepper, Peter turned to Rhodey. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Potts. I have to.”

“You traitor,” Pepper said in fake horror. She reached for the spoon, and Peter danced out of the way as Rhodey laughed. “You—”

And Tony walked in.

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey said. “Nice of you to join us; I need a little backup.” His voice trailed off at the end as he must’ve picked up on a certain tension that Peter had noticed instantly. Peter lowered his gaze to the floor, even taking a couple steps back.

Pepper jumped in as the silence grew awkward. “Rhodey’s almost done cooking. Come with Peter and I to the dining room.” It wasn’t a request, and Peter looked up in surprise at the directness of the command.

The three of them left the kitchen, Tony trailing behind. He wouldn’t make eye contact with Peter. When they’d all sat down—Pepper next to Peter, Tony across from them—Pepper spoke.

“Okay, you two. Spill.” She sounded like Aunt May. Nobody jumped to talk, so Pepper said, “Tony?”

“Everything’s good, Pep,” Tony said easily. He finally took off his obnoxious sunglasses, setting them down next to his elbow. “How’s work?”

Pepper raised a perfectly professional eyebrow. Not that eyebrows could be professional. But, if they could, Peter thought Pepper’s eyebrow would definitely be professional. “If it’s between you and Peter, I won’t interfere, but I’ll be watching you two.”

Tony Stark—billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist—coughed uncomfortably. 

And when Happy walked in, already launching into a surprisingly boring tale about his new security measures, the silence from before was pushed under the table like it had never even existed.

“So, Peter, are you staying here tonight?” Pepper asked conversationally.

He nodded. “Two nights in a row. Maybe I could go for three!”

Rhodey groaned. “Please, no. Tony makes us save a whole cup of coffee for Peter in the morning.”

“Coffee used to be a cutthroat race.” Pepper sounded impressed. “You’re spoiling him, Tony.”

Tony finally looked at Peter, even giving him a small smile. There was a look in his eyes—something good, Peter thought. “Just looking out for the little guy.”

Peter’s mind went blank. Those were his words, echoed back at him, and yeah, Tony had said it jokingly, but he’d paid attention, and maybe Tony wasn’t mad at him anymore for everything and— “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

\- - - -

The conversation came soon after. Peter was washing the dishes by himself.

“All the robotics you do, and you still can’t use a dishwasher, kid.”

“I, I just figured that since— Well since I’m staying again and I didn’t ask I didn’t want—”

Tony stepped closer, and Peter turned to see his mentor’s face. “Don’t sweat it. Got a minute?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, Mr. Stark.” Peter hopped onto the counter, and Tony crossed the room to stand where Peter had been, facing the sink.

“I don’t really do stuff like… this.” He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “But Pepper… and I mean, you’re a good kid. You deserve better. Agh, that had emotions in it.” Tony sighed. “Anyway. About last night—”

“Why are you facing away from me?”

“Kid.”

“Sorry.”

Tony started over. “About last night, I wanted to… Well. I know you were just, you know. Doing the right thing, or whatever. That’s great, kid. Moral compass, all that.” Peter was swinging his legs back and forth and fidgeting with his shirt at the same time. There was a feeling that he couldn’t quite place. “I deal with… stuff. Stuff like that, a lot. Anxiety, panic, you know. It kinda comes with the territory.”

“I know,” Peter said quietly.

Tony sighed again. “And it gets hard, kid. But I don’t— I can’t— I didn’t… Last night. I don’t want you to see me like that.”

Peter went still. “Mr. Stark?” When his mentor made no move to continue, Peter said, “You’re really strong, and I, I think you’re really cool, and I would never think you weren’t because you are the most awesome—”

“Are you geeking out on me?”

“No?”

Finally turning around, Tony said, “You’re totally geeking out on me.” He was grinning, and his expression was so open and real that it took Peter by surprise. “I’m sharing the most vulnerable part of myself, and you, kid, are talking to me like I’m Cap or Thor.”

Peter turned red. “No I’m not!”

Tony rested his arms back across the edge of the sink. “Kid, you’re great. And that’s why, when you said that thing last night, it stuck in my head.”

Tilting his head, Peter asked, “What thing?”

“That you’ve had panic attacks. That you have them, and I quote—I think—‘all the time.’” 

“Oh, Mr. Stark, you really don’t have to— I mean, like, it’s fine, I, I handle it fine and don’t—”

“I’m not fluent in insecure adolescent, so could you slow down a little?”

“Sorry Mr. Stark!” Peter took a deep breath. “I can handle it myself,” he said with fake confidence.

Tony’s smile turned sympathetic. “Kid, I’m telling you that you don’t have to.”

“Oh.”

“I’m here.”

“Oh,” said Peter, again, and then he hugged Tony, tight, and Tony hugged him back.


End file.
